


Twisted Games

by sunaddicted



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Bottom Q, Bottom Silva, Canon Divergence - Skyfall, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Torture, Internal Conflict, M/M, Multi, OT3, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Sex, Q is not a Damsel in Distress, Raoul Silva is Alive, Rough Sex, Smut, Snarky Q, They're a bit messed up, Top James, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-22 23:39:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10707555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunaddicted/pseuds/sunaddicted
Summary: "Last time Bond fucked you, the whole floor heard you" Silva tutted reproachingly, reaching over to spoon some cream into his tea.Q merely arched an eyebrow: it wasn't as if he cared whether anyone knew about the little arrangement he had with Bond - and neither should his colleagues care, since having a sexual relationship with the agent didn't prevent him from doing his work.  Anyway, it was widely known that Bond was his favourite agent: the fact that they were fucking couldn’t have changed that much people’s already malicious opinions "Jealous?""You don't even know where that cock has been"





	Twisted Games

_Twisted Games_

Q wasn't a violent person - of course, considering his line of work, one could have disagreed with that statement. Still, it was the truth: it was easy to kill from a distance - almost like playing a videogame, if you're not particularly empathetic - and Q didn't feel any murderous impulses while he directed MI6 agents to their targets or orchestrated something dire to happen to smooth over said agents' paths.  

"That's a sloppy string of code: you can do far better than that" an heavily accented voice pointed out from behind his back, smugness sharpening the edges of every word.  

That particular voice was also the reason why Q was reconsidering his stance on his inner debate about whether he was a violent person or not  - because there wasn't anything else that it would bring him as much pleasure as wrapping his bare hands around the other man's throat would. Sighing heavily, Q swivelled his chair around and took off his glasses to clean them with the hem of his sweater, so that the full strength of his glare wouldn't be hidden behind smudged lenses "It's a personal project"

"It doesn't give you an excuse to be sloppy" Silva remarked, grinning down at the Quartermaster's squinting green eyes "You can't hope to be the best, if you let yourself grow lax whenever you're not officially working"

"I already am the best" Q retorted but really, what he wanted to say was 'I wish 007 had killed you' and he hoped that the message got across to the former Double-Oh agent without having to actually voice it "Why don't you get lost?"

Silva chuckled, the sound leaving his throat coated in honey: oh, he did like the boy's company; the Quartermaster was a clever and witty thing with a sharp tongue, which he wasn't at all afraid to use.  And, just like the delightful Mr Bond, Q too had a taste for insubordination that greatly appealed to Silva - he had to give it to Mummy: her handpicked toys truly were the best of the bunch "Didn't you get the memo? I am to be babysat by Q-branch only, since this is where I'll end up working on probation after my rehabilitation is complete"

Sadly, Q knew all of that already, having been called into Mallory's office at the beginning of the week to be thoroughly threatened with a treason accusation if he even just thought about causing a ruckus.  And, while Q respected Mallory and even liked him marginally better than he had the formal M, it was the presence of the white haired, glaring  - and, thank all the gods, finally retired - Olivia Mansfield that had made Q consider the threat as a true one, with real consequences on his not-so-immaculate record thanks to a certain 007 and his own occasional slip-up in not exactly legal activities.

Reaching behind himself, Q picked up a couple of heavy folders and he tossed them at the former agent, smiling with vicious satisfaction when Silva wasn't fast enough to actually catch them and the papers scattered all over the floor "You can make yourself useful and type those mission reports up, then" he ordered before flicking his laptop closed and sauntering away with it tucked under his arm - in no way he was leaving his precious laptop unattended in the hands of Raoul Silva, the man that had made him look like a fool in front of the whole agency.  

* * *

"That looks almost artistic" Q mused, cocking his head to the side and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose to better observe the way blood had splattered on the wall. It wasn't the kind of things he remarked upon that often but with only Bond and Silva to hear his words, Q felt perfectly comfortable with voicing his thoughts.

He didn't even turn to acknowledge the Spaniard's presence when he felt him approach, looming over him like the ghost he was supposed to be - nor did he flinch when Silva lowered his head to better look at the screen and their cheeks brushed against one another, Q's mind picturing in HD the faint burn that the other man's stubble was surely giving him.  

James chuckled in his earwig, holstering his gun with a practiced and fluid movement, barely rumpling his shirt and perfectly pressed suit jacket - Q wasn't exactly ashamed to admit that his pupils interestedly followed the way Bond's body moved, taking in the slight way his abdominal muscles were put on display with the torsion of his torso "You do know that you're creepy, don't you?"

Q shrugged, even if the agent couldn't see him "You thought exactly the same" he pointed out as he switched to another camera feed to make sure that Bond had no unpleasant surprises waiting to ambush him in the dark "You looked at the wall all proud of yourself and of your good job"

A statement that James couldn't exactly deny; sometimes, it was unsettling to know that his Quartermaster could read him so easily.  Even more surprising, it was how Q didn't bat an eyelash at the most disturbed things that he'd learnt about him, taking everything in stride as if it was all normal - as if their minds worked in the same way "Point conceded" he murmured.  The better he got to know Q and the more he thought that the younger man, so innocent and frail looking, wouldn't lose any sleep after shooting someone in the face "Is the hall clear?"

"As empty as my fridge" Q deadpanned, prompting an amused chuckle from Silva's throat.

A sound that, despite the distance and the static white noise in the background,  James effortlessly picked up thanks to his senses sharpened by adrenaline "Who's with you?"

Before Q could answer, mind too focused on a couple of alerts scrolling down a monitor at the edge of his range of sight, Silva put his lips against Q's lobe to get closer to the mic embedded in the earwig he was wearing "Good evening, Mr Bond" he drawled in a silky voice, his hand going to cup the Quartermaster's nape to make sure he kept still "May I compliment you on your work too?"

The sigh James exhaled made Q feel spiritually connected to the man - now, if only they could join physically as well... Q had several positions in mind he wouldn't have minded to try.

"Leave my Quartermaster alone"

"Possessive, aren't we?" Silva inquired cruelly, his hold on Q's neck tightening; he was familiar enough with the younger man's skin type to know that it bruised easily and, with a bit of luck and a little more pressure, he would leave the imprint of his digits on that tender flesh.  

Bothered - in every sense of the word - by the possessive streak in both men's voices, Q rebelled from under Silva's touch and freed himself "I'm /the/ Quartermaster, 007" Q reproached the agent before turning to glare at Silva "Break's over: either go home, or keep doing that maintenance work on the firewalls"

* * *

Q had figured out that it was easier to entice between his thighs a bleeding and adrenaline fuelled Bond fresh from the field, rather than a perfectly put together one. Which, honestly, worked in his favour: Q too had some surplus adrenaline, paired with too much sugar and caffeine in his system, to get rid of after certain missions.

"Bend over" James barked, fingers briskly undoing the fly of his tailored pants; once upon a time they had looked neatly pressed and clean but, after South Africa unwelcoming hospitality, they were creased and streaked with blood-stained dust.

"Make me" Q teased, licking his lips in invitation as he leaned back against the edge of his desk, one hand carelessly swiping over its surface to scatter on the floor paperwork and various bits and pieces that he didn't need to feel digging in his skin "What - are you too old to put your back into it?" Q sniped as he absentmindedly took notice of the fact that he was purposefully trying to rile the agent up in order to get a hard pounding - well, if it got him what he wanted there was no need to use his words, was there?

James too realised that the younger man was trying to provoke him into being rough; any other day, he would have taken a brief break to make sure that it really was what Q wanted, but he was still filled with too much nervous and violent energy to play games. After unbuckling his belt with a sharp tug, it was a matter of seconds before he had Q painfully bent over his own desk "Happy now" he growled, roughly palming the other's erection before zipping down his trousers.  

Q was breathless with excitement and the hard impact of his ribs against the hard metal table. Still, he pushed himself back and ground his arse over the satisfying hardness between the agent's legs "Depends: are you planning on putting your cock into me anytime soon?"

James couldn't almost believe how someone could look as unassuming and boring as Q did, but actually reveal themselves to be an hellcat. He grunted at the feeling of woollen trousers rubbing against his naked cock, gritting his teeth in an attempt at restraining himself from humping that perfect arse - Q's teasing would be endless if he came before he had thrust in him even once.  

Q gasped loudly when his trousers and pants were tugged down, just enough to expose his groin and arse, and immediately found his mouth stuffed with two calloused fingers; he didn't need to be told to suck, nor to be warned that he wouldn't get more lubrication than that.

"Good boy" James cooed darkly, digits rubbing the flat of Q's wet tongue that was dutifully  coating his fingers with saliva. When he withdrew them and started circling Q's hole, for a minute James actually focused on the preparation: they might both have been in the mood for some ugly and rough sex, but he didn't want to hurt Q.  The first slides of his fingers weren't as smooth as they would have been with lube and their slow dragging against those inner walls, it only helped to stoke the fire already simmering at the base of his spine.  

It burnt so much but Q immediately felt the stress of the past few days become a barely noticeable pinprick at the back of his mind before disappearing completely, just like suds whirling down the  drain of the shower.  A loud moan found its way out of his throat and Q let his head flop down on the cool metallic surface of the desk as he stood on his tiptoes, arching up into the other man's touch "Please"

James liked that attitude much better: he was used to seducing, not the other way around - he wasn’t a prey "Soon" he promised, scissoring his fingers when he felt the ring of muscles give a little and relax; as high on adrenaline and horny as he was, James couldn't tell whether Q's muscles were locked so tightly because of nerves or because he was too excited to relax.

"I'm ready" Q panted, hand reaching back to take a hold of the agent's wrist "Fuck me"

James didn't try to make Q reason that he probably needed more preparation than what he had received: he could feel tension curl in his stomach, ugly and hungry.  So, it was rather unceremoniously that he spat on his hand to live himself up before he started pressing against that ring of muscles, trying to breach it "You're tight"

"And horny" Q retorted, mind cleared enough by the pain to find in himself the lucidity to give a witty retort "Fuck me, I won't break" he panted, pushing his arse back; tears of pain started flowing down his face, already sticky with sweat.

James snarled at the return of the younger man's insolent attitude and pushed hard and quick into him, bottoming out with a grunt. He didn't give Q more than a handful of seconds to adjust before he started fucking him, his hips moving in a fast and relentless rhythm.  

When Q started screaming in pleasure and begun hitting the desk with the palm of his hand, it was music to James' ears and he purposefully tilted his hips just the right way to hit Q's - apparently rather sensitive - prostate, while he slipped a hand in his dishevelled curls and tugged harshly on them to expose his throat, so that he could bend down and cover his pale skin in bruises.  

"Bite me. Oh god, bite me. Mark me" Q babbled, hysterical and desperate for release.  It was when Bond gave him a particularly painful bite that Q's eyes opened wide and, on the threshold of his office, saw Silva standing in contemplation of the scene playing out in front of him.  

"Noticed him, did you?" James whispered in Q's ear - not that Silva couldn't hear his voice but still, that tone sent thrilled shivers down his spine - and his eyes too were focused on the other man watching them "Want to come in front of him? Show Mr Silva whose slut are you?"

Q wasn't an exhibitionist, nor did he particularly like possessiveness in a lover but it was a unique occasion, with unique people warring over the right to his body: it made him feel like a cherished prize and it helped knowing that both men wanted him also because of his brain, not just for his pretty arse - it was more empowering than he would have thought. Q nodded his permission to James and, when the agent spilled deep inside him and triggered his own orgasm, his eyes were focused on Silva's, his mind lost in their darkness.  

* * *

As strange as it sounded, Q didn't mind taking his break with Silva and quietly sip on his tea while they talked about what still needed to be done and any anomalies they had noticed.  Once he had gotten past his initial dislike for the other man, Q had been delighted to find a mind as cold and rational as his own was; it was nice not having to censor his thoughts in a way that would have hidden his disturbing - for other people, at least - lack of empathy.  

"Last time Bond fucked you, the whole floor heard you" Silva tutted reproachingly, reaching over to spoon some cream into his tea.

Q merely arched an eyebrow: it wasn't as if he cared whether anyone knew about the little arrangement he had with Bond - and neither should his colleagues care, since having a sexual relationship with the agent didn't prevent him from doing his work.  Anyway, it was widely known that Bond was his favourite agent: the fact that they were fucking couldn’t have changed that much people’s already malicious opinions "Jealous?"

"You don't even know where that cock has been"

"Not in your arse, that's for sure" Q murmured, hiding his smirk behind the rim of his mug and a cloud of warm steam wafting up from his Earl Grey.  

"Cheeky shit"

"It's not my fault if you're gagging for it"

Silva put his mug down so harshly that some of the tea sloshed over the seat of the chair they had turned into a rickety coffee table and leaned over, face so close to the Quartermaster's that he could smell the taste of the cigarette he had sneaked in the bathroom half an hour or so before "Maybe you could let me where he has been" he suggested lewdly, fingers lightly caressing the sharp edge of Q's cheekbone.  

And despite the fact that the suggestion made his pulse pick up with excitement, Q just smiled and patronizingly patted Silva's tanned cheek "In your dreams" he whispered, their lips brushing together for the briefest of moments.  

* * *

The sex wasn't always as rough as it had been their first time - it rather was a pretty rare occurrence and, if James was to be completely honest, he preferred it that way: he liked dining and wining his partners, take his time to explore and cherish their bodies; with Q, he just had to make sure to inflict the right amount of little pain that he favoured with his pleasure and the younger man would easily fall into step with him, enjoying the ride.  

It was with the intention of luring Q into a warm bath before spreading his still damp limbs on his bed - it was a little too late for one of their luxurious dinners at Michelin starred restaurants -  that James had walked into Q-Branch, after filling in all of his paperwork,  ignoring the way the minions eyed him nervously.

He confidently walked towards Q's office, curiously musing about the almost closed door: the Quartermaster usually kept it open to be aware of everything that was going on his branch even when he wasn't sat at his usual post in the middle of the bullet pen. Hand instinctively going to touch the handle of his gun, even if he knew that MI6 was relatively safe, James slowly opened the door in an attempt at doing as little noise as possible.

"I'm afraid he's not up for one of your dates" Silva stated, not even looking up as he draped a blanket over the younger man's body curled on the lumpy couch: the perk of Q's constant need of control, it was that there was a neat little camera looking over whoever came in the direction of his office, giving the Quartermaster a considerable advantage.

"I'll take him home"

"No use in waking him up: he's following 002 mission and she's supposed to check in, in an hour or so" Silva straightened up to face the agent "Had we always had someone like him to keep an eye on us, we would have turned out quite different" he observed.

James snorted a laugh, letting go of his gun and closing the door behind his back before leaning against it as casually as if he hadn't had a man he'd tried to kill standing in front of him "Don't let him hear that you think he's driven by... sentiment"

"He's not a sociopath, regardless of what he thinks of himself"

"Have you been working on a degree in psychology on the side?" James teased but Silva's tone of voice was serious and well, he was curious to hear the other man's thoughts - delighted at the idea of breaking Q's head open and peer down into his brain in an attempt at understanding how exactly it functioned "Go on" he encouraged.  

Silva sat down at the end of the couch, crossing his legs and picking up Q's mug of tea: it wasn't as if the younger man would drink it once it had went cold and they took it almost the same way, he could survive drinking  black tea "Society and the people who were supposed to nurture him as a child made him think that he's a sociopath, only because of his mind: everything is a number, a pattern that can be fixed"

"Are you saying that people convinced him that he's a cold and heartless machine so, he started to act like one?" It made sense, at least to James: it would explain why someone who claimed to be emotionless wore himself out just to make sure that the people entrusted to his care made it home safe - because James was fairly sure that Q wasn't driven by patriotism.

"You're not a whore, are you Bond? Still, you act like one even out of the field because that's what people expect you to do" Silva held up his hand to stop Bond from talking before he was finished "Which doesn't mean that you don't have quite the sexual appetite or that Q is particularly empathetic - just, some things are enhanced by people's opinions: the problem of fitting in society"

James' mouth twisted almost without he had given the muscles a conscious command "Point taken.  But I hope you're not trying to justify yourself and your actions with this two cents psychology"

"Oh no, I'm intrinsically evil"

* * *

Q was riding James' cock with tired and sensual swivels of his hips, face hidden in the agent's neck as he focused just on the feelings that sparked from the nerve endings clustered around the ring of muscles protecting his hole and under the hot and wet flesh of his inner walls.  He panted quietly, tongue flicking out from time to time to taste the tang of Bond's sweat: it was heady, even more so to Q's exhausted mind.  

Which was why it was James to notice Silva's rather habitual presence in the doorway, observing them with interest and barely veiled desire "Close the fucking door, at least" he growled.  Sure, everyone knew that he was shagging the Quartermaster - they didn't need to also know that they somewhat enjoyed being watched by smug, bleached blond Spaniards.

"One would think that, with all the monitored sex you had, you wouldn't care anymore about open doors"

Q whined as the accented voice went through the hazy fog surrounding his brain and he recognised its owner "You're a pain in the arse"

"I wish" Silva replied readily, grinning in a rather cheeky manner.  

James groaned, rolling his hips up into Q "And then everyone says that the worst pickup lines are mine"

"At least, he didn't use them in the field on actual marks" Q remarked, spine arching as the head of Bond's cock touched his sweet spot and hammered there for a little.  He loved slow and unhurried sex, it turned off his mind and everything Q was able to think about was just the languid entwining of limbs and the filthy swapping of bodily fluids  "Can't you watch porn on your computer like everyone else?"

Even if the younger man couldn't see him, Silva still arched and eyebrow and grinned "Why would I, when I can wank to the real thing?"

"You're sick"

"You too" Silva chuckled, getting closer to the two men "My clever boy, don't deny that feeling my eyes on you is making you hot" he murmured, fingers running down Q's crumpled shirt; they hesitated briefly when his digits found the naked flesh of Q's arse and Silva glanced up at Bond: it was a possibility  that had been brewing amongst the three of them for quite a while, but still he thought it was better to check that the agent wasn't going to go ballistic on him - he didn't fancy having Mummy's bulldog at his throat again, not with violent intentions in mind at least.  What Silva saw in Bond's eyes though, it was only unbridled lust.  He hummed, letting his fingers brush in the damp crack of Q's arse, petting the sensitive skin with tenderness.

Q shivered so violently that he harshly contracted around Bond’s cock, making the older man groan in pleasure and instinctively thrust up in the convulsing heat, and sobbed into James’ golden skin with shame and desire: it was such a twisted game, the one they were playing and he was sure that if M - either of them or, worse, both of them - discovered what they were doing behind the relative privacy of closed doors, they wouldn’t be enthusiastic at all “I’m fairly sure that when they told us to play nice with each other, they didn’t mean this” Q snarked as soon as he had taken a breather: it simply was in his nature, he couldn’t pass up a good chance for sarcasm.

Silva chuckled, leaned in to kiss the exposed nape of Q’s neck as finally his digits found the quivering hole stretched around Bond’s girth “Then Mummy should have told us not to be naughty boys” he whispered as he carefully started to push against the rim of Q's hole until he got his fingertip in.

James moaned when he felt a calloused digit caress the base of his cock while he was inside of the younger man “He's tight” he pointed out, one hand dropping to soothingly caress Q's spine.

“I'm not planning on stretching him further than this” Silva reassured “Not today, at least”

The implication that Silva wouldn't have minded fucking him together with Bond, that he could have them thrusting up inside him at the same time, it made Q clench tighter and he spilled himself over James’ shirt, panting “Christ”

“Not quite even if, admittedly,  we both have a penchant for resurrection”

“That was awful” Q groaned, turning his head as much as it was physically possible to look at Silva in the face; they were so close that he could smell mint on his breath and Q was taken by the inexplicable urge of kissing him, licking the inside of his mouth until the taste had gone away - it was a thing desiring the man sexually but kissing him? That was weird, too much “Want to try this cock, even if you don't know where it has been?” Q suggested grinning, distracting himself from his own thoughts.

“Ohi, watch your mouth” James chastised, helping Q to raise to his knees, so that his cock could slip out of him. He was still painfully hard and wet, dripping with lube and thick precum.

Silva chuckled, eyes hungrily looking at Q's puffy and used hole “Oh, but I know where it has been” he said, thrusting two fingers inside the Quartermaster to wring weak moans out of him, who clearly was still sensitive “You were so selfish, my dear boy: leaving Mr Bond so hard and wanting”

“That's because I knew he's got another hole to fuck” Q laughed, sighing in exhaustion even as he pushed his hips back on Silva's fingers. After having been full for so long - he was quite sure that he and Bond had been at it for at least half an hour - Q couldn't bear feeling empty and, despite being so sensitive that every thrust of those finger burned his nerves, he relished in their thickness filling him.  

“Are you two quite done?” James was getting impatient and seeing Q fuck himself on Silva's fingers wasn't helping his control “Either you get on for a ride, Silva, or Q can go back to his place”

“Awful, awful lines” Q chuckled as, with trembling legs, he dismounted from James’ lap - frankly quite grateful for the two strong pairs of hands steadying him and holding him up. Grimacing he curled up on his little couch, wrinkling his nose at his semen stained shirt as he pulled on his clothes “One of you is taking me home” he sentenced, glancing at his wristwatch to see how late already it was before he settled to watch them.

James hummed distractedly at Q's words, mind already focused on Silva while he lazily pumped his cock: despite the terrible dye job and the smarmy attitude, he couldn't deny that he was an attractive bastard.  Smiling, James patted his thigh “Come on. Or are you scared?”

“Of you?” Silva snorted, bending down to remove his shoes; he lingered a little, knowing that he was giving Q quite the view of his arse - there was no reason why the younger man shouldn't have been enjoying himself too, even if he had come already, was there?

“I almost killed you once”

“But you failed, didn't you?”

“If you could stop bantering and get this show on the road so I can get home, I'd be grateful” Q interjected, tiredness and simmering arousal mixing up in his head; he didn't think he could get hard again - he was exhausted after what had basically been a 72-hour-long shift - but still, Q's body tried to respond to the picture the two men made together.

The Quartermaster was right.  Without losing any more time, Silva unbuttoned his slacks and let them fall on the floor together with his pants in a rather sorry heap as he grabbed the abandoned bottle of lube, left uncapped on the nearby desk “Give me a minute” Silva ordered as he balanced on Bond's thighs, slicked fingers reaching behind to quickly prepare himself.  

James poured more lube on his cock; no matter his weird feelings towards Silva  - a mixture of hatred and attraction that swirled in his brain every time he saw the former agent - he didn't enjoy hurting his partners during sex and the extra lubrication was needed, since Silva didn't look like he wanted to take his time with preparation.

“I'm ready”

Q frowned “Are you sure?” He asked because he wasn't sure that James would.

“I'd rather you took your time, than bringing you to Medical and explain why exactly you're bleeding from between your legs” James added, one hand skimming down Silva's toned ass to probe at his entrance “You're still tight”

“And I'm old enough to know how I like it” Silva drawled, batting Bond's hand away and taking his erection in hand to slowly start to ease himself on it.

Predictably, Silva hissed in pain and James brought his hands to his hips, just steadying him. Not that he would have been able to thrust up even if he wanted to, the other man was so tight that James felt like Silva would only need to clamp down a little to make him come.  

“Stop worrying about tearing me: it's distracting” Silva chided, panting heavily.

Having to wait for Silva to slowly work his length inside himself, James focused on distracting the other man from the pain with pleasure; after lubing his hand up, James started to slowly pump Silva's cock - mildly surprised that his erection hadn't flagged, despite the burning of penetration - as he deftly unbuttoned his shirt, fingers finding scars on their quest for Silva's nipple. It was an unusual feeling: Q's chest was smooth and the marks he seduced during missions - usually, bored trophy wives or well kept and  spoiled pets - didn't bear the signs of a life spent fighting. But in the grooves of Silva's scars, James found a shared past of pain and it made him feel a little more connected to the other man.

“Now you're getting sappy”

“Do you ever shut up?”

Q snorted “Pot. Kettle” he teased, sleepily rubbing one eye “You're almost there” he pointed out.

“That was a vital information, thank you” Silva chuckled, letting out a pleased hum when he managed to take the last inch of Bond's length. For a few seconds, he focused on the way the agent's hand slowly wanked him in a steady rhythm and paid attention to the way Bond touched his scarred skin, almost unbearably reverent; he knew he had been beautiful once upon a time, before M left him to die right in the middle of hell.  With a shake of his head, Silva cleared his mind from such thoughts and started riding Bond.

“I don't think I'll last” James admitted through gritted teeth, the pace of his hand growing faster in an attempt at bringing Silva closer to orgasm.

“Me neither” the Spaniard reassured, his hips snapping faster as his inner walls relaxed.  

Q shivered, observing the way the two men moved; they were both in perfect sync and, hadn't Q known the truth, he would have believed that they had been lovers for a long time by the way their bodies seemed to be comfortable with one another.  He supposed that, in a way, they did know what to expect: they both had been manipulated into good little soldiers by the SIS and even if Q wanted to believe that neither James nor Silva always fucked as if they were attempting to seduce a mark, he also knew that such conditioning was hard to shake away - and why should they, when they had been taught how to read their partners’ bodies in order to be perfect lovers?

Q’s focus snapped back on the scene playing in front of his eyes when Silva moaned lowly in his throat and the younger man's eyes found a pale trail of semen running down the olive skin of the former agent's inner thigh: Bond had come first; Q was sure that, once the afterglow had faded, Silva would crow about that and snatch the occasion to call the other an old man.  

“Let me help you” James murmured as he still pumped his hips up, lazily riding his orgasm out as he dropped one hand between Silva's legs to close around his dripping cock “Come for me”

The blond closed his eyes; Silva was too proud to come for James Bond - M’s new favourite and, basically, his substitute - but he knew that a long-buried part of himself wouldn't have such qualms: Tiago Rodriguez would gladly come for the man holding him in his arms.  

Silva took a deep breath and buried his face in Bond's neck, blacking out any other sensory input that wasn't the feeling of calluses against his shaft and the heavy musk of Bond's sweaty skin - and he came with Tiago Rodriguez taking possession of his mouth, a stranger's words rolling down his tongue “Sí. Sí. Esta es éxtasis”

* * *

Q was fighting hard to keep from giggling at every snort and loud snore that James let out every other breath.  

“I'm actually regretting not killing him” Raoul said in a sigh, not even bothering to lower his voice: it wasn't as if James would be able to hear him over his own snoring “This is unbelievable”

“Don't be mean!” Q murmured, lightly kicking Raoul’s shin before huddling close to his side, head buried in the threadbare t-shirt the other man used as sleepwear together with boxer briefs “He's got hayfever: his nose is all stuffed”

“Don’t get me started on that too” Raoul retorted, holding Q close “Back in my day, people with any allergies or the smallest problem weren’t made Double-Ohs”

“Yes, but you’re ancient” Q pointed out, grinning brightly at the heavy sigh of resignation Raoul let out.

**Author's Note:**

> Back to my OT3 <3


End file.
